


love was shrewd and bold

by someotherstorm (rumbrave)



Series: let love in [2]
Category: Justified
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 23:32:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumbrave/pseuds/someotherstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which Ava learns that while the third time may indeed be a charm, first times are always awkward as hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love was shrewd and bold

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to norgbelulah, thornfield_girl and engaged_protocol for all the beta'ing and cheerleading, y'all are awesome and ilu <3 
> 
> this is a sequel to [there's a devil waiting outside your door](http://archiveofourown.org/works/532372). i suppose it is a series now, oops >>

**love was shrewd and bold**

They get the idea -- one might even call it an _Idea_ , with that _I_ all capital-like -- the day Boyd comes home with Raylan’s belt damn near embedded in his back. 

“Jesus, baby,” Ava says, fingers tracing lightly over the welted skin as he lays on their bed, stripped from the waist up. “You can’t even see the marks from my fingernails in your shoulders. Been outdone by Raylan Givens, look at that.” 

“Only one thing to do about that.” Boyd says with a yawn. “But you best let me have a nap first, so I can appreciate it.” 

“A nap? That’s all you think you need, huh? What you need is a _good night’s sleep_ before you’re appreciatin’ anything of mine, Mr. Crowder.” Ava puts some ointment on his back, wipes at the skin with a gentle touch and a cool washcloth. “And why the hell did Givens think it’s proper to send you home like this, without attendin’ to your back? Me and that man are gonna have words, Boyd.” 

Boyd’s head is resting on his arms, turned so he can see her. Exhaustion is etched into the lines of his face, evident in the boneless way he’s sprawled out. His smile is a quick flash that comes and goes, eyes closing as if it’s too much effort to do two things at once. “I told him you’d do it. ‘Sides, what do you think Raylan’s gonna put on it? Whiskey?” 

“Works well enough,” Ava says softly, thumb rubbing over a particularly brutal welt. “Used it a few times, myself.” 

Boyd’s eyes open, faraway and briefly cold. “I wish I could’ve killed him for you.” 

“Aw.” Ava leans down and kisses his forehead. “You’re sweet. But I think it had to be me.” But she doesn’t want to talk about Bowman and the times her body wore his anger like roadmap, all lines and jagged edges going nowhere, red skin over yellow bruises. 

She’d rather think about Boyd and Raylan, tangled up and tearing at each other just because they want to. A different kind of anger, one she doesn’t really understand but tries to accept. Her fingers ghost over the angry marks on Boyd’s neck. Teeth marks. Raylan’s. 

“He didn’t believe me.” Boyd’s voice is quiet, relaxed. Ava runs her fingers through his hair. She doesn’t really understand why he needed this, but she’s glad he got it all the same. “About you fixin’ me up. That you wouldn’t mind.” 

Ava remembers Boyd before he left for Lexington. He was wound tight like twine, all stiff and frayed at the edges, bent into odd angles you’d have to lay a book on to keep it flat. “He wasn’t tryin’ to share a bed with you for a week when you couldn’t sleep’,” she says lightly. “You gonna do all that tossin’ and turnin’, he’s welcome to it.” 

“Didn’t believe me you wouldn’t be mad about _that_ , neither. ‘Course we weren’t sharin’ the bed as much as the floor.” 

She leans down and kisses the bite on his neck, tongue licking at the marks. She smiles when she feels him shiver beneath her. “Ain’t one of those ladies that minds that.” 

“Well, now, that’s ‘cause there ain’t no other ladies like you, baby.” 

Ava bites gently at his skin. “Damn straight, and don’t you forget it, Mr. Crowder.” 

“I don’t rightly think I will, Miss Ava. You’re too good a shot.” 

She laughs and he kisses her until she’s breathless. She pulls away and sits back on the chair before they get carried away. “What I do happen to mind is you making that drive back so late. Maybe next time, Raylan should just come here.” 

Boyd looks up at her with half-closed eyes. “You want to watch Deputy Givens lay into me with a belt, baby? Didn’t know you had an appetite for such things.”

Ava shrugs. “Ain’t sure if I do or not, to be honest. Probably shouldn’t keep any guns in the bedroom, though, in case I don’t. Look at you, smilin’ like a fool at that.” Ava rolls her eyes and picks up the ointment again. “Think I’d mostly like the part after that.” 

“The part where he fucked me on the floor?”

Ava’s breath hitches lightly, and she hits him on the shoulder. Jerk. “Stop tryin’ to get laid again, you are going to sleep or I’ll smother you with that pillow. But yes, that’d be the part I’m thinkin’ of specifically.” 

“You just want to watch? That’s all?” Boyd takes her hand, kisses the tops of her knuckles, his eyes hot on hers. “That don’t seem very fair to you.” 

“Well, that is the most important thing, here. What’s fair to me.” Ava smiles, but he looks at her very seriously, takes her other hand in his like he’s about to recite some kind of vow. 

“It is, Ava. You give me something I ain’t got a right to even ask for, and you do it with such grace that I am humbled by it, I really am.” 

He says things like that sometimes and Ava isn’t sure if she wants to laugh, cry, or hit him for making her feel all warm and awkward. Boyd’s good at finding places people want to keep locked up, finding them and walking right in without knocking. “Shush,” she tells him, but she leans in and kisses him again. “So what’d you have in mind?” 

“I surely would not mind watching you with our friend Raylan,” Boyd murmurs, and then pulls back a little, looking worried. “It occurs to me that might not be a thing a woman wants to hear.” 

“Only if they’re an idiot,” she says, straightening. She can’t stop smiling at him, and it’s not just the idea of going to bed with him and Raylan -- though, hell yes -- it’s that he’s worried he’s upset her by suggesting it. “Ain’t a lot of men who’d be into sharin’ their woman with another man. ‘Specially one she had a thing with in the past.” 

Boyd just shrugs and relaxes again. “I don’t own you, Ava, or your affections. And I like to think our situation is not so precarious that one night of mutual enjoyment with someone else is gonna change that.” 

“What if it were Dewey Crowe?” 

Boyd snorts a laugh. “Well, then, I might have to have a word or two with you about your taste, baby.” 

“Seriously, though, you wouldn’t be jealous?”

“Concerned for your mental state, maybe, and I’d probably tease you about neck tattoos --” 

“Oh, would you stop.” Ava ruffles his hair. “You know who I mean. What if you think you won’t be jealous, but when Raylan puts his hands on me, you are?” 

Boyd squints up at her, considering. “Well then, I’d get myself good and over it. My problem to solve, not yours.” His eyes shadow briefly. “No doubt my dearly departed brother told you different, but he was too weak for a woman like you and he knew it. And I ain’t, so....” Boyd trails off and makes a contented noise as she traces the welts on his back. It’s obvious he likes her touching them. Like they’re something he’s proud of. 

Ava was never proud of the marks Bowman left on her. But Boyd asked for his, and it’s a simple and yet startling distinction, one she’s just starting to understand.

Goddamn, she sure would like to dig Bowman up out of his grave and bring him back to life with some kind of Hollywood movie magic, just so she could kill the son-of-a-bitch again. He used to say he only got jealous because she made him -- like all he ever did was hold one end of a chain and watch while she waltzed herself into knots so tight, it took a shotgun to get herself out of them. 

Some people thought she might should feel ashamed of herself for that, or at the very least, regret the necessity of taking a human life. Those people weren’t being slowly strangled to death by a jealous, abusive asshole, so those people could kiss her ass. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget how it felt to pull the trigger -- and it sure as hell wasn’t _regret_ or _shame_ she was feeling, no sir. 

Boyd’s never put a single chain on her -- if anything, he’s taken off a few she didn’t realize were still there. 

“All right,” Ava says at length, standing up. “I guess if you really want me to, I’ll have a threesome with you and Raylan.” She gives a long-suffering, mock sigh. “Everyone’s always sayin’ you’re a bad influence, Boyd Crowder.” 

“Was your idea,” he mumbles, half-asleep already. “I’m just the one that said it out loud. Think maybe it’s you that’s the bad influence, Miss Ava.” 

There are worse things she could be. 

* * * 

Ava’s grabbing tight at the headboard, Boyd’s hands on her hips while he fucks her from behind. They’re making enough racket wake the dead and scandalize them right back down to the grave.

Boyd curves his body over hers and pulls her head back with one hand in her hair, rough in that way he has that makes her feel wanted, safe. “He put a gun in my mouth,” he tells her, voice like whiskey in her ear. “He made me suck on it.” 

He’s probably very smug at how fast that gets her off, but she’s not of a mind to care too much.

She gets him back, anyway, when she calls and leaves him a cheerful message the next day about the very nice, long shower she took that morning and what she did while thinking about what he told her. 

“Never did ask you if the gun was loaded, but that’s all right. I just pretended it was. See you when you get home, honey.” 

When Boyd comes home he fucks her against the door, fast and hard, his breath harsh and ragged in her ear. He finishes first and then keeps her pinned there, hand between her legs and kissing at her neck. “It was,” he says, and bites her while she comes. 

If they can’t arrange a way for Ava to thank Raylan Givens personally, she’s at least sending him a thank-you note. 

* * *  
“Hi Raylan,” Ava says cheerfully, taking a seat next to him at the bar. 

“Ava,” Raylan says, giving her his usual look of wary suspicion, mild distrust and low-simmering violence. There’s a whiskey in front of him, barely touched, like maybe he’s just using it for a prop. Boyd does that all the time. 

Ava tugs on the brim of his hat. “Don’t give me that marshal look, Raylan. You ain’t here for work, right?” 

“Ava, if I’m in Harlan, it’s pretty much always work.” 

She makes a face at him. “That don’t sound like too much fun.” 

Raylan picks up his glass and downs half his whiskey in one drink. Okay, so, maybe it isn’t a prop. “Yeah, well, you know me. Buzzkill is my middle name. Ain’t like there’s much of anything _fun_ here to ruin, though.” 

Ava leans in closer, pitching her voice low, teasing. “Well now, I wouldn’t say that, exactly.” 

“I would.” Raylan says, flatly. “Ava, if you are trying to entice a United States Deputy Marshal to a house of ill-repute, you might want to rethink that particular sales pitch. Ain’t got much interest in your girls, no offense intended.” 

“Just my boyfriend,” Ava murmurs. “Ain’t that right?” 

Raylan pushes back from the bar in one quick, violent movement. “If you’ll excuse me, I best be on my way. Nice to see you, Ava.” 

Ava takes his unfinished drink and raises it to her mouth, turning on her barstool to face him. “I just thought you might want to hear it from me, that’s all.” She takes a sip, feels the whiskey burn all the way to her stomach. “You know. That it’s all right.” 

“Oh, good, now I can put my guilty conscience to rest,” Raylan bites the words out, practically vibrating with leashed tension. He tips his hat to her and moves to walk away, but Ava halts his progress by kicking one leg out. 

“Why don’t you come to supper on Sunday?” she asks, and the look on his face is almost priceless. “Raylan, I ain’t gonna shoot you. Told you it was all right, and I meant it.”

“Boyd’s honor ain’t worth dyin’ for, that’s for sure,” Raylan answers, but she can see a smile tilting the edge of his mouth. Raylan’s sense of humor is irrepressible, and always entirely unexpected. 

He must have gotten that from his mother. 

“My fried chicken is, though,” Ava tells him, standing up. She’s right in his space, too close, and she’s enjoying herself immensely. “Come over at six-thirty.” 

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Ava,” Raylan says, very sincerely. 

Ava winks at him, finishes his drink, and makes a show of leaning over to put the empty glass on the bar. “Let’s find out.” 

* * * 

Raylan doesn’t show up on Sunday. Ava boxes up the leftovers to take to the girls at Audrey’s.

Boyd tells her he’s not surprised. “Raylan’s not going to be easy to talk into this, baby,” he tells her, elbows-deep in soapy water as he washes the dishes. He hands her a plate. “You know how contrary that man is. He could be dyin’ of thirst, and still throw a glass of water in someone’s face if he didn’t like the look of him.”

Ava dries a plate and sets it neatly on the counter. “He shoved a loaded gun in your mouth and he can’t show up for supper?” She puts her hands on her hips and scowls at Boyd. “What kind of manners are those? His mama taught him better than that, I’m sure of it.” 

“To show up for supper at his ex’s house, where he shot the man he’s sleeping with, so he can have a threesome with the both of them? Those the manners you mean, Ava?” 

Ava hits him with her towel. “No, I mean the ones where if you are doing kinky things with firearms and my boyfriend’s mouth, you best let his girlfriend fix you supper and get you drunk so she can watch.”

Boyd reaches out and gets his arms around her, water soaking through the thin material of her dress. “Now, with all due respect to the power of language...those sure do sound an awful lot like the same rule, Ava.” 

Ava kisses him before he can say anything else. And then he fucks her on the floor, soapy water and all. 

If there’s one thing to say for this hypothetical threesome, it’s very inspirational. 

* * *  
Ava gets a call from Raylan two days later, and a sincere-sounding apology for his absence. 

“I had to escort a criminal to Cincinnati,” he tells her. “Wasn’t nothin’ personal.” 

“And you just now called to tell me?” 

Raylan clears his throat. “Well, that’s ‘cause I just now got back. Ran into a bit of a problem.” 

“Shoot anyone?” 

“Ava.”

“Ain’t judging, Raylan, just askin’.” Ava looks down at the list on her desk and adds a few more grocery items. “So you are obviously happy to reschedule for this Sunday, is that right?” 

There’s a very long pause. 

“Raylan? You there, honey?” 

“Ava, I just don’t think it’s a good idea, is all.”

“You are going to make me have a complex,” Ava tells him, tapping her pen on the desk. “Is that what you want, Raylan? To give me a complex?”

“Yup. That’s my plan. Give you one to compliment your boyfriend’s god complex. A matching set.”

“Raylan,” Ava says again, but this time she’s smiling. “I have to go to the IGA and get some groceries for the girls, so I’ll just pick up a few things for this Sunday. How’s that?” 

“Do I have a choice?” 

Ava leans back in her chair. It’s nice, leather, and brand new -- she hadn’t wanted to keep Delroy’s chair because god only knew what was on it -- and stacks her boots up on the desk. _I always wanted to do this._ Being a business owner sure is nice. “Technically, yes. But not really.” 

“That was sixteen different answers, Ava. Which is it?” 

Ava’s quiet for a moment, remembering being in bed with Raylan. How intense he was, the way he’d look at her when he made her come, the sharpness in his voice. _Come on now, girl._ “Nope. I’ll pick up a roast, maybe.”

“What happened to the fried chicken?” 

“I don’t want you to start sweatin’ bullets when you see it, is all.” Ava swings her feet back on the floor and picks her pen up again. 

“I’ll probably be all right. Are you sure Boyd has to be there?” 

Ava doesn’t quite manage to catch her laugh in time to turn it into a very convincing cough. “Pretty sure. Six-thirty, how’s that work?” 

“Fine, fine. You need me to bring anything?” 

_Your service weapon, so I can watch you make Boyd suck on it._ She almost says it, but there’s light coming through the window and the sound of two girls giggling in the bar. It’s too normal, too _daytime_ , for that. “Nah. Oh, well, if you insist -- could always use more whiskey.”

“I’ll bring some Jack.”

“You bring Tennessee bourbon in this house, I _will_ shoot you,” Ava jokes. “Now if we’re square, I gotta go shopping for the whores at the IGA.” 

“Didn’t know they sold them there. They next to the candy aisle or somethin’?” 

Ava folds the list neatly in half. “Shopping for groceries _for_ the whores.” Ava doesn’t mind calling them that, because she doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with what they do. “It is harder to keep a house of ill-repute fed than you might think. All Delroy seemed to provide was crap.”

“RC Colas and Moonpies?” 

“That’d be a step up, probably.” Ava opens the list and writes _Moonpies_ on it. She hasn’t had one of those in ages, and besides, there’s plenty on the list that’s healthy. “But we’re gonna start havin’ some vegetables around here, even if we gotta start raisin’ the prices.” 

“Hope that doesn’t mean you earn less of a _celery_.” 

Ava giggles, she can’t help herself. “Funny. Real funny. See you on Sunday, and if you cancel, I won’t let you hit my boyfriend with a belt anymore.” She figures that one’s okay to say, even if it’s the middle of the afternoon. It _is_ a whorehouse. 

* * *  
Later that night, Ava tells Boyd that Raylan is coming for supper. “We’re gonna need a plan,” she says, washing the broccoli. “And you best stop eyeing those Moonpies. They’re for the girls.” 

“You bought the whores Moonpies.” Boyd picks up the box. “Of course you did.” 

“Everybody needs a treat,” she says defensively. “They ain’t expensive or nothin’. Not like all these vegetables.” Suddenly she giggles, and then mentions Raylan’s pun. “Who knew the marshal liked bad puns?”

“Means he likes you,” Boyd says, emptying a grocery bag. “It’s _we’re friends_ , in Raylan-speak.” 

“That so? Huh.” Ava thinks about that. “That’s good. It’ll probably make getting him into bed easier. He tell you bad puns, too?” she asks, mostly teasing. 

Boyd looks away from her when he answers. “Not for a long time. Since before he left.” 

Ava walks over and slips her arms around Boyd from behind, pressing her cheek against his back. Sometimes she forgets they were friends before anything, Raylan and Boyd. She doesn’t know what they are now. She doubts they do, either. “We don’t have to do this -- I mean, you know we don’t have to, right?” 

Boyd looks over his shoulder at her. “Yes, Ava,” he says, patting her hands, which are criss-crossed together over his chest. “I know.” 

Ava kisses the back of his neck. The bites Raylan left are mostly faded, but still there if you look close enough. “Maybe he’ll make a bad pun when we’re all in bed together.”

“We can always hope,” he agrees, and kisses her. 

* * *  
Raylan arrives on Sunday with a bottle of Makers under his arm and his holster, sidearm and suspicion all in plain view. 

“Here,” he says, handing Ava the bottle. He has to duck to walk in the house, and he takes his hat off, holding it in front of his chest like a shield. 

“Thanks,” Ava says, smiling, trying to make him look less like a wooden statue. “I put the shotgun away, promise.” 

“Trust me, darlin’, it ain’t you I’m worried about doin’ any shooting.” 

“It should be,” Boyd says, walking in with a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder. “She’s right handy with a weapon. Thanks for comin’, Raylan.” 

“Yeah, well, thanks for having your girlfriend quasi-imply I better,” Raylan answers, nodding at Boyd. 

Boyd gives her a meaningful look. “It was her idea.” 

“That’s right, it was.” Ava says brightly. “Let’s eat.” 

Dinner isn’t quite as awkward as, say, the one where Raylan showed up and there were guns and blood and yelling, but it’s close. There’s a lot of uncomfortable silences, and when they do decide to start talking it’s about the movie _American Psycho_ , thanks to a one-off comment from Raylan calling Boyd “Patrick Bateman.” 

“That was all in his head, you know,” Boyd mentions, sipping his whiskey. None of them have eaten very much, but the whiskey is steadily disappearing from the bottle. 

“What?” Raylan stares across the table at Boyd. “What was in his head?” 

“All that nonsense with the chainsaws and such,” Boyd answers, waving his hand. Ava can see his eyes are lit up, like he’s going to get up and start preaching. “It’s a lot more obvious in the book.”

 _You do that, honey. Preach the gospel of the threesome._

“You are something else, you know that? The guy was a psycho, it’s right there in the name.” Raylan takes a very angry bite of mashed potatoes, then blinks. “These are real good, Ava.” 

“Thanks,” she says sweetly. “Boyd made them.” 

Raylan puts his fork down. “They’re probably poisoned.” 

“Raylan,” Boyd says, and laughs. “The title’s supposed to be ironic, but I suspect that’s lost on you and your overly-literal nature. You ain’t noticed after he kills the security guard, by the ATM -- right before he calls and confesses to his lawyer -- that you see that guard plain as day in the next scene, alive as anything?”

Ava doesn’t remember that part herself, but she trusts Boyd knows what he’s talking about -- he’s probably made a habit of studying ATM machines and guards more than most people. 

“Why no, I don’t believe I focused entirely on the parts with lawlessness and violent killings, Boyd.”

“Ain’t that the whole movie?” Ava stares up at the ceiling. “I watched that with Bowman, but I had to walk out of the room at the part with the chainsaw.”

“Make you sick to your stomach, did it?” Raylan takes the bottle and refills his glass. 

“No,” Ava says, sighing, pushing hers towards him so he can refill hers, too. “Made me jealous.”

Silence. 

Ava takes a sip of her whiskey. “That was a joke. Drink up, boys, until violent homicide is funny and somebody laughs.” 

“By _somebody_ you mean me, don’t you.” Raylan glares and stabs his fork in his potatoes. 

“Of course we don’t,” Ava soothes him. “Do we, Boyd.”

“Surely not, Raylan. We don’t expect you to laugh.” 

This snarkfest is not quite the threesome she had in mind. Maybe relying on _American Psycho_ as a conversational point to lead to sex was a bad idea. 

Ava finally drags Boyd into the kitchen with the excuse of helping her with the pie she made for dessert. Never mind that nearly everything is still untouched on the table -- cooking when nervous is totally a valid hobby. “This ain’t workin’,” she tells Boyd, sliding a piece of chocolate meringue pie onto a plate and shoving it at him. 

He takes it without blinking. “Well, darlin’, I told you it wouldn’t be easy.”

Ava glares at him. “We got a backup plan, here? Honestly, baby, I think you’re the hold-up. Weren’t for you, I could have had him in bed already.” 

“That is likely very true, but any man who could resist that invitation is some kind of stupid.” Boyd smiles at her. 

Ava huffs and slices another piece of pie. Sometimes having a boyfriend who knows exactly what to say is really goddamn frustrating. “Well, how do you get him there, then? What’s your solution, Mr.Crowder?”

“Drinkin’ works, and gettin’ him mad.”

Ava’s not so sure that’s a good idea, but they need to come up with some kind of plan, quick. She knows they’ve been in there long enough to rouse suspicion. “He’s already mad, Boyd.” She gets three forks out of the drawer. There is a joke in there somewhere she’s too annoyed to make. 

Boyd’s eyes gleam, predatory and bright. “Oh, trust me, baby. That’s just regular Raylan mad. I can do a lot better than that.” 

Ava leans in and kisses him. “Good. Now let’s go have dessert.” 

* * *  
Supper ends with Raylan sporting a split lip, Boyd a black eye, and Ava a broken screen door from Raylan slamming it on his way out. 

“I’m sorry that didn’t work,” Boyd apologies, while Ava presses a bag of frozen peas to his face. 

“S’all right,” she says, removing the bag and tracing the outline of a bruise beneath his eye. “It would be pretty damn mean of me to get huffy when you took a punch to the face. Besides.” She leans in, pressing her forehead to his. “You look pretty hot with a shiner, Mr. Crowder.” 

She climbs on top of him that night and rides him hard, until the sheets are a tangled mess and she’s covered in sweat. Boyd holds her steady with his hands on her hips, letting her move like she wants while he tells her about him and Raylan, how he wants to watch her bite that bloody lip of his, scratch her nails down his chest and make him bleed. . 

Sometimes having a boyfriend that knows exactly what to say is _great_. 

They have chocolate pie for breakfast. 

* * *

Ava’s not surprised when Raylan leaves her an apologetic voice mail the next day. She makes him sweat it out, and doesn’t call him back until Tuesday. 

“Sure be nice, Raylan, for you to come to supper without havin’ to apologize after.” 

“Maybe you ought to get yourself a new boyfriend,” Raylan snaps.

“Well now, I would, but I’m too lazy to change my last name and Boyd ain’t got any other brothers,” Ava says pertly. “So maybe you could just behave yourself, next time?”

There’s an indignant huff on the other end of the line. “Me? Ava, you were there. Was like he wanted me to shoot him again, I swear to God, carryin’ on like he was. He started it and you know it.” 

She does indeed know it, but loyalty keeps her from admitting it. Besides, what is she supposed to say? _He was tryin’ to get you into bed, not the ground._ “Maybe my living room is possessed. Happens, you know. Could be some crazy person who wants everyone dead, and their spirit just goes right into anyone who’s in there. I heard old Mrs. Macpherson’s house is haunted like that, on account of she killed her husband.” Oh. Maybe not the best example. 

“Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this whole goddamn town is possessed by crazy people who want everyone dead.” 

“That’s a little dramatic, Raylan.” 

“You take a look at who you’re sleepin’ with, lately?”

“Yeah, and then I take a look and the mirror and see how, oh my, we ain’t the same person,” Ava snaps, temper riled. 

Raylan makes a noise that Ava translates as _point, Ava, you brilliant woman._ “You just got bad taste in men.” 

“Apparently, so does he.” 

There’s a pause, and then Raylan laughs. “You’re right. I’ll apologize again. That’s what I called to do, anyway.” 

“Apology accepted --”

“Thank you, Ava.” 

“Wasn’t done yet, but you’re welcome.” She looks outside and sees some of the girls sitting under a tree, having lunch. Ava likes to see them smiling and laughing, instead of beaten down and scared. Besides, happy whores are better for business. “Apology accepted, but only if you come back and have supper with us like a civilized person. One who doesn’t go around decking people.” 

“I only hit him because he said that about my daddy issues and ….” Raylan clears his throat, going from outraged lawman to stuffy Sunday preacher in seconds. “Our personal business.” 

“Your _personal business_.” Ava starts giggling. Raylan is uptight about the strangest things. “I know you’re sleeping with him, Raylan. Ain’t no reason for you to pretend otherwise.” 

“I just keep hoping if I don’t talk about it, it ain’t real.” 

Ava blinks, startled by the sudden honestly. “That’s not real smart,” she says, because what else is there to say? He knows what he’s doing. “Look, just come on over and we’ll have supper and nobody will hit no one, no daddy issues and I will tell Boyd not to mention your... _personal business_...at the table. How’s that?” 

“You sure do seem determined to get me to your supper table, and seein’ how poorly the last two times went, I ain’t real sure why.” 

It’s a valid question. Ava thinks about just saying it, _we want to take you to bed_ , and seeing what happens. Then she remembers _personal business_ and decides maybe that’s not a very good idea. “We went from shootin’ to punchin’ and I can’t imagine we’ll ever get away from a little yellin’, so. Figure this time’s gotta be easier.” 

“Third time’s a charm, is that it?”

If only he knew. “That’s what I’m bettin’ on. You’ll be there, I expect?” 

“I reckon I’ll at least check my calendar. Hey, Ava?”

“Yes, Raylan?”

“How come it don’t bother you? Me and Boyd. You didn’t seem so happy when it was Winona. Why’s it okay when it’s him?” 

Ava stands in the middle of her office, momentarily unable to speak. Raylan just went from stuffy Sunday preacher back to intimidating lawman, and she’s not real sure she appreciates being on the end of his sudden, blunt inquiry. 

But maybe it’s best to get that all cleared up, as much as she understands it. “Well, it’s...he didn’t lie about it, Raylan.” 

“I didn’t so much lie as just not tell you,” Raylan says earnestly. 

Ava just hangs up on him. She’s put a lot of effort into this plan, she’s gonna be pissed if she ends up wanting to shoot him after all.

* * *  
They talk about their strategy over the few days, briefly, on the occasions they’re alone and not distracted by various aspects of running a crime syndicate. It’s sort of a twenty-four hour profession. 

“I just don’t know why this is so goddamn difficult,” Ava grouses, as she and Boyd make their way up to the house. They’ve been at Johnny’s, and she’s pleasantly warmed from some bourbon and holding Boyd’s hand, leaning into his shoulder as they walk. 

“Walking?” Boyd smiles down at her. “Didn’t know you were having trouble. You want me to carry you?” 

Ava rolls her eyes and jabs him in the side with her elbow. “No, I do not mean walkin’, I ain’t nineteen, Boyd. Only had one drink. I’m talkin’ about the difficulties in gettin’ the man you’re sleepin’ with, and who I’ve slept with, to sleep with both of us at the same _time_.” 

“And they say I use too many words.” Boyd’s arm slides around her waist. “I told you, Ava, it ain’t gonna be easy. Don’t think there’s some magical formula to it.”

“Definitely ain’t whiskey. Or you bein’ an ass.” Ava hits him on the arm out of pique. “Maybe you were too much of an ass.” 

“Maybe you gave him too much whiskey.” 

“Or maybe,” a voice interrupts, “Maybe you could try just _askin’_ him, straight out, without all that other shit. Just a thought.” 

Raylan Givens steps out from where he’s lurking, Raylan-like, in the shadows on their front porch. 

Ava and Boyd both stop, looking up at him. There’s a quiet so intense it feels like it lasts a season, like leaves blossom and die in the silence. 

Boyd speaks first, because the world is what it is and that’s as sure a thing as any. “Raylan, would you like to join me and Ava upstairs, in our bed?” 

Raylan’s face is a dark, blank mask beneath the brim of his hat. He leans against the post, arms crossed and looking impossibly tall. “You honestly thought pissing me off was gonna get me in bed with you?” 

“Raylan,” Boyd says, all affection and amusement, “You gonna try and tell me it ain’t worked before?” 

“There was a _lady_ present.” 

“There was?” Ava looks around. “Where’re we hidin’ her?” 

Boyd laughs, and it’s warm and sinister, imbued with his usual demented charm. Ava can feel him practically vibrating next to her, buzzing like a live wire, and when he kisses the side of her head she half-expects an electric shock. “Come on, now, Raylan -- don’t you think Ava deserves a little courtesy, considerin’ she’s so polite to share?” 

Ava pulls away and shoves at him. “Hey, Mr. Crowder, you watch your implications before I punch you in the mouth. This here ain’t a pity fuck so you can keep screwin’ the marshal, baby. You suggest that’s what this is, and I’ll be in that bed myself and you and Raylan can sleep in your truck.” 

“Hey, now, I didn’t do nothin’,’ Raylan points out, as Ava makes her way up the front porch stairs. 

“That’s why you’d be sleepin’ in the truck, sugar.” She reaches up and grabs his hat, puts it on her head and heads inside the house. 

Let ‘em follow. 

 

* * *  
Threesomes are actually not as easy as Internet porn (or the two-for-one Wednesday special at Audrey’s) would have you believe. Ava finds this out about twenty minutes later, when the three of them haven’t done a damn thing in the bedroom except look at each other kind of awkwardly. 

And this is _after_ Boyd went downstairs and returned with some bourbon. The good stuff, too. Woodford Reserve, the kind of bourbon you drink at the Derby when your horse comes in first or you manage to successfully bet a trifecta. Or when you shoot your abusive ex-husband, or your criminal boyfriend escapes imprisonment for premeditated murder. 

“So,” Raylan says, but he doesn’t follow it up with anything. He looks like he’s studying the ceiling very intently, as if there are clues etched in the tiles that will tell him what to do. 

Boyd is trying to look unaffected and relaxed, but he’s quiet so that definitely means something is wrong. 

Ava considers lighting Raylan’s hat on fire, or taking off her shirt -- boobs always work, right? -- but she’s a little too annoyed at the two of them to be that accommodating at the moment. “Look, I ain’t ever had a threesome before. Who has? Let’s just be honest and someone cop to it, and then we can just...” She stops before she says _get on with it_ , like it’s a root canal or a Jillian Michaels workout video. “Raylan?” 

“Ava, if I was any good at threesomes, don’t you think I would’ve found an easier way around that whole _you and Winona_ thing?” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t answer any more questions.” Ava takes a swig of Woodford. Somewhere, generations of her Kentucky ancestors are howling at her show of disrespect for the fine, smooth bourbon. 

_At least I ain’t shootin’ anyone._ Though the bourbon would probably bother her ancestors a lot more. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t ask any more questions,” Raylan says hotly, sounding like an annoyed third-grader -- _I know you are but what am I?_ \-- likely because she’s ignoring his obvious, longing glances at the Woodford. 

She is not going to get this far only to have the whiskey render them useless, no thank you. “So we’ll all sit here drinkin’, lookin’ at each other, is that it?” 

“No, because you won’t share the goddamn whiskey.” 

Ava ignores that helpful comment of Raylan’s, and takes a deep breath. Fine, fine. She directs sex all day long for a living, doesn’t she? Technically? “Okay, Raylan, if you want some whiskey --” she waves the bottle at him enticingly. “Do something to earn it.” 

Raylan stares at her, then looks at Boyd, and then back at her. He doesn’t move. 

“Well it’s a damn good thing none of y’all work for me, or you’d be fired.” Ava turns away, suddenly embarrassed, uncomfortable and wanting to escape to a warm bath. With the Woodford. “Maybe we should just forget it.” 

Ava can see Boyd’s reflection in the glass window as he approaches. His hands settle on her shoulders and he kisses the back of her neck. “Baby, I think me and Raylan aren’t....” 

“Good at threesomes?”

Boyd smiles and nuzzles at her through her hair. “That, too. But you want this, don’t you?” 

She nods, leaning back against him. She can see Raylan’s reflection, too -- remote and tense, and it occurs to her that he must be even more uncomfortable than she is. “I do, I just...don’t think I’m very good at it.”

“Ain’t gonna get a grade, darlin’.” His mouth is on her neck, his hands sliding down to settle at her waist and pull her against him. She can feel him behind her, and it’s reassuring to know _he_ at least is interested. 

Maybe they’ll have sex and Raylan can stand there and glower. Will that count as a threesome? She’ll have to ask the girls at work. In fact, she’s going to have revisit what they’re charging, the girls are likely way underpaid. 

“Tell me something you want, Ava. Start with just one thing.” 

Heat stirs when he says that, the way he makes it sound dangerous and slightly threatening instead of indecisive. When she doesn’t answer right away, he bites her neck and his voice sharpens. “Ava. I said tell me, girl. If I have to ask you again, we’ll just send the good marshal on his way.” 

Ava flushes hot, and she takes a deep, shaking breath. Boyd’s fingers tighten on her waist, a little past comfortable. She’s starting to understand a little more about Boyd and the things he wants from Raylan. “I -- ain’t ever seen -- could you --” 

“Ava.” Boyd’s voice is very nearly a warning, but his thumb rubs gently at her hip. 

“Kiss him,” Ava says, and it feels kind of silly to ask for _kissing_ of all things, but it’s something. And she does want to see it.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Boyd smiles against her hair, then lets go of her and turns towards Raylan. 

Ava goes and settles herself on the bed, knees drawn up to her chest. Anticipation flutters through her like she’s in line for a roller coaster ride. Somehow she’s always found waiting to get _on_ the ride worse than anything else, because that’s the last chance you have to turn back. When you’re going up the hill, you know there’s nothing to do but enjoy the fall. 

She has no idea what this is going to be like, if the reality of it is going to be too much. And this is the last chance she has to say anything, because she can see the way Raylan is staring at Boyd, the way the chill is starting to burn out of his eyes. Once Raylan gets his hands on him, he isn’t going to stop. 

“Don’t think you gotta make it nice or anything, just ‘cause I’m here,” Ava tells them, pressing her hands to her flushed face. They’re circling like sharks looking for the killing bite. 

“I don’t think we know how to do nice,” Raylan says, and he’s smiling at Boyd, but it’s not like any smile Ava’s ever seen. 

They’re standing very close to each other and the tension stretches out unbearably, and it’s not until it starts to bleed over into dread that it finally breaks. 

She can’t tell who moves first, but suddenly Raylan is backed up against the wall and they’re kissing, messy and violent. And it’s like getting on the roller coaster, going up the hill and falling all at once. 

It’s definitely hot -- even after they break apart to breathe. Raylan has one hand in Boyd’s hair, the other wrapped tight around the leather of his belt. Boyd has both hands fisted in Raylan’s shirt. One of them makes a noise, and they’re kissing again, and then Raylan moves and turns and slams Boyd against the wall. 

Ava hears a soft noise like a moan, and realizes it’s coming from her. They both stop and look over at her, and that would probably be touching if she weren’t annoyed that they stopped. “No, keep -- is that how you always do this?” 

Raylan shoves Boyd against the wall again. “Always. Ain’t that right.” He leans down like he’s kissing Boyd’s neck, but then Boyd kicks the heel of his boot against the wall and Ava realizes he’s not kissing, he’s _biting_. 

“I’m gonna go do that to you later, Givens,” she tells him, riled up and turned on, raising up to her knees. 

Boyd grins at her over Raylan’s shoulder. “That’s my girl,” he says with a laugh, sounding like he’s drunk. When they break apart he gives Raylan a shove and comes over to the bed, kissing _her_ all rough and hot while Raylan watches them, eyes glittering. 

He kneels behind her and slips his hands under the hem of her shirt, his fingers burning hot against the bare skin of her stomach. “You liked that, baby?” 

She can feel how hard he is from kissing Raylan, and she rubs back against him playfully, eyes on Raylan while she does it. “Mmhm. Feels like I wasn’t the only one.” 

Boyd bites at her shoulder and he’s starting to pull her shirt up, sliding it up as his hands move higher but he stops just below her breasts. “Ava?”

She nods, leans back against him as he pulls off her shirt in one smooth motion -- which is then completely ruined as he tries to get her bra off. And keeps trying. 

Raylan hasn’t moved any closer, but he starts smirking. “Having trouble, there, Crowder?” 

“Hush, Raylan.” Boyd makes a sound, pulling lightly at the clasp. “Ava, darlin’, I don’t know if you noticed, but this appears to be broken.” 

Ava meets Raylan’s eyes and rolls hers. “You could leave it on.” 

“Well, he could have done that if he hadn’t tried to get it off and failed,” Raylan points out. His eyes are straying from Ava’s lace-clad breasts to Boyd’s continual inability to divest said lace from her body. “Now he’s gotta figure it out or it’ll be like he lost...goddamn, son, it ain’t the Gordon Knot, is it?” 

“Gordian Knot,” Boyd corrects him, almost absently. “And I don’t believe so, Raylan, but I haven’t exactly examined the tag.” 

“Hmm, how shocking that the person who corrects mythological references can’t get the hot girl’s bra off. Jesus, Ava, how do you put up with this?” 

“I wear a lot of shelf tank tops,” Ava says, half-seriously.

“She doesn’t wear bras a lot,” Boyd answers at the same time. 

Ava glares at him. “Those tank tops count. They do!”

“Bet Mr. Genius here might have a hard time with that, too...seriously? Are you seriously still working on that?” 

Boyd presses his face against her shoulder. Ava can feel him smiling as his fingers continue messing with the clasp, still not unhooking it. He’s gotten her bra off one-handed in a closet while half-drunk before (they end up at a lot of strange parties), she can’t figure out why this one is giving him fits. It’s not even new. 

Goddamn it, she even _bought_ a new one for this whole threesome thing, just in case. But it has a front clasp, so maybe it’s fate Raylan showed up three days early so she’s not wearing it, if her boyfriend suddenly forgot how to get them off. 

_It better be the only thing he’s forgotten how to get off._

It isn’t until Raylan makes an irritated noise and stomps over to the bed, climbing on it and shoving at Boyd’s shoulder with a grumbled, “Would you move over, Jesus, you’re embarrassing _me_ ,” that Ava figures out what he’s doing. 

“By all means,” Boyd says politely, moving so that Raylan can kneel behind her, his fingers deftly unhooking her bra. 

Boyd moves so he’s kneeling in front of her, Ava in between them. He winks at her. Ava bites back a laugh as she feels the clasp give way, as Raylan’s warm hands slide the straps down her shoulders. 

“There, did you see that? I swear I will never understand how you orchestrate criminal activities and evade law enforcement personnel -- okay, granted, some of them around here are as dumb as a bag of wet hair, but still.” 

He stops talking when Boyd leans in, takes Raylan’s hands in his and starts sliding them up Ava’s stomach. He doesn’t look up until Raylan’s hands are right beneath Ava’s breasts. “Oh, hello, Raylan. Nice of you to join us on the bed. Thought you might just stand by the door all night.” He slides Raylan’s hands up so they’re covering Ava’s breasts. 

Ava makes a soft sound of pleasure, and Raylan inhales sharply, going still behind her. “Well, that was...very criminal mastermind of you, Boyd.” 

“Thank you, Raylan, your approval means the world to me.” 

Raylan rubs his thumbs over her sensitive nipples, making her gasp. “Too bad you couldn’t do that last week. Could’ve spared you a black eye.” 

“I thought perhaps Ava might not appreciate my taking her shirt off at the dinner table.” Boyd is watching Raylan’s hands move lazily over her, breathing a little faster. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Ava squirms a bit, wanting more but unsure what to do to get it. She had no idea she’d like being touched by someone else while Boyd watched quite so much. 

“You two must be very in demand at dinner parties,” Raylan murmurs. 

Ava reaches out and slides her hands up Boyd’s thighs, rubs her palm over him through his jeans -- and she hears Raylan hiss sharply, feels his hips buck forward against her. 

Boyd reaches out and rubs two fingers over her mouth, then slides them inside, rubs the pads over her tongue. It’s an odd sensation, Raylan’s hands on her and Boyd’s fingers in her mouth, there’s a moment where she feels trapped and out of control, manipulated by the two of them so she can’t move or speak. 

It’s pretty hot, because she knows she _could_ get away, if she really wanted to. 

“Ava, do you want to kiss him?” 

Ava’s eyes are wide and she nods, though there’s a flash of worry she can’t quite hide; that Boyd will think she wants Raylan and not him, or any other of a thousand insecure scenarios, ground into her by years of Bowman’s abuse. 

Boyd takes his fingers out of her mouth and leans in to kiss her. “I kissed him, baby. It’s all right.” 

“I guess there’s no asking me, huh? It’s just _Raylan, come upstairs_ , and _Raylan, make out with me to get my girlfriend hot_ , and _Raylan, get this bra off_....” 

“You got a problem with that, sugar?” Ava rubs her ass suggestively against him. “Sure don’t feel like it.” 

Raylan smiles and it’s all for her, playful and heated, like she remembers when it was just them. And it’s nice to see him smile like that again at her, to know that bullets and blood and betrayal can be in their past without defining it. 

Though she thinks about Boyd and the way Raylan looks at him, and wonders if maybe she’s wrong about that. But Raylan lowers his head and kisses her, so she stops thinking and kisses him back, acutely aware of Boyd’s eyes on hers, his hands wrapped tightly around her own. 

* * *  
Things progress a little smoother after that. 

They end up stretched out on the bed, Ava in the middle. She has her back against Boyd, who’s kissing her neck and murmuring in her ear while Raylan’s pressed up against her, one leg between hers and his hand in her panties. 

She’s so wound up that it doesn’t take long; she comes like a house on fire, arching hard against Raylan’s fingers. She’s loud, let’s them hear how good it feels, how much she likes what’s happening. And goddamn, Raylan has nice hands. 

“She can do it again,” Boyd informs Raylan, chin resting on Ava’s shoulder while she comes down, catches her breath. Like it’s a party trick of hers. 

Raylan’s smirk is more conspiratorial than competitive. “I know.” 

Ava would normally interject with something like _and she can speak for herself, too!_ but she doesn’t, just kisses Raylan slow and sweet. “Thanks, darlin’.” 

“My pleasure, ma’am,” he drawls, tipping an imaginary hat. 

Wearing the actual hat in bed was immediately and unconditionally vetoed by Boyd, two weeks ago. 

“Not all yours.” Ava pats him on the head and slides off the bed, saunters to the dresser in nothing but her panties and grabbing the bottle of Woodford on her way. 

She takes a sip and looks at the two men on her bed, both shirtless and watching her with hot eyes -- she can tell they’re trying to keep their hands off each other until they find out what she wants. 

God _damn_. This is proof positive that when you decide to take charge of your life and get rid of negative influences, good things will happen to you. Ava lifts the bourbon bottle in a silent salute to Bowman before she drinks, the taste of satisfaction mixing with the liquor. _You thought you could beat everything I am out of me and you were so wrong._

Her hands are shaking a little. Boyd’s looking at her, a question underlying the heat in his eyes. She nods and gives him a reassuring smile. “Doin’ just fine, baby,” she says, reassurance offered for unspoken worries. 

Ava takes the bottle and holds it out to Raylan. “Guess you earned yourself some.”

Raylan takes the bottle, and indulges in a long pull of the whiskey. “Nice of you to keep us refreshed, Ava.” 

“What can I say, I’m a good hostess.” 

After divesting the comfortable, age-old chair beneath the window of the pile of clean laundry, towels, her sweater and Raylan’s shirt, she pulls it over so it’s facing the bed. Ava grabs the whiskey bottle back from Raylan, a half-empty soda can and her smokes. “I think I earned myself an exception to the no-smoking-inside rule,” she tells Boyd, settling in the chair. 

Ava lights herself a smoke, sprawls back in the chair and grins at them. “Well, go on, entertain me.” 

“She sure ain’t having any trouble telling us what to do now, is she.” Raylan settles on his back, his hands behind his head. “You make a damn fine sight, sittin’ half-naked in that chair, Ava.” 

Ava exhales slowly, the nicotine a sweet zing in her blood. “I know.” 

“Hold on, now, _entertain me_ ain’t very specific.” Boyd is on his side on the bed, propped up on his elbow. “Raylan, you never know what he might do if you give him such unspecified instructions -- he might start juggling. Or singin’ a tune. You know how literal he is.” 

Raylan glares over at him. “What the hell would I juggle? And no one deserves my singing. Well, maybe you do, Boyd, but on account of Ava being present I will spare you.” 

“Thank you very much, Raylan.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

Ava taps her cigarette against the lid of her Coke. “While this is certainly entertaining, I can hear you two bicker just about any given day of the week. Try again. Somethin’...sexier, this time.” 

The fact that throws Raylan for a moment is probably very telling. It’s like his inner wiring all got plugged into _angry_ and skipped other, more useful components. “Can you just tell me what she’s gettin’ at, Boyd?” 

“I confess, Raylan, I surely don’t think I can.” 

Ava lightly draws the fingers of her free hand down between her breasts, brushes over her stomach. “Maybe you should think harder, Raylan.” 

“All right.” Raylan’s gaze lingers for a moment before he looks at Boyd. “You want to go shoot some pool?” 

“Never did like pool much.” 

“Why, ‘cause it’s too hard to cheat?” 

“Exactly. How about we play a few hands of cards? Euchre?” 

“I hate that game, I can’t ever remember what the fuck the cards mean.” He glances back innocently at Ava. “We’re thinkin’ as hard as we can, Ava.” 

“All our mental faculties are engaged, baby, that is the god’s own truth.” 

“Well no wonder you’re having difficulties. Think with somethin’ else.” Ava takes a drag off her cigarette, looks pointedly lower. “What would you be doin’ if I wasn’t here?” 

“Be at home,” Raylan says flatly. 

“Ava, darlin’,” Boyd says, catching her attention, “you sure didn’t have this much trouble thinkin’ stuff up when we talked about this before.”

Oh, lord. Ava feels herself blush hotly, and she puts her cigarette out in the Coke can and sets it on the floor. “You know it is one thing to talk about it with you, it’s another to just...” She waves her hand. “Tell you to do it.” 

“Take yourself another sip of that Woodford and try,” Raylan suggests. “And thanks for letting me know you mention me when you’re in bed together. I’m flattered and a little disturbed.”

“No problem.” Ava takes up the bottle again, sips from it. She’s barely drinking any, just enough to warm her up and get her feeling ornery enough to say things she usually only says in front of Boyd. “One time we mentioned your ex-wife.” 

Raylan looks half-intrigued, half-horrified. He also looks like he wants to know more about that, but Ava’s not real sure they should go there so she has to come up with something, quick. 

“Maybe you could bite him.” 

Boyd clears his throat, almost politely. “You might want to rely less on pronouns, baby -- might get a bit confusin’ if you just say _him_.” 

“Do you correct _everyone’s_ grammar in bed, or are Ava an’ me just special?” 

Boyd smiles, though it isn’t with his usual wide grin -- the one that means he’s about to talk someone into a very bad, probably very illegal, idea -- it’s small, contained. Satisfied. “You two are definitely special. And it’s _me and Ava_.” 

Raylan kicks him with the heel of his boot. “I said it that way on purpose.” 

Boyd hits him in the arm. “You did not.” 

Ava crosses her arms and wonders who told them that acting like grade-schoolers fighting on the playground was attractive. They’re going to start with the bickering again, if she doesn’t do something drastic. “Boyd, get on top of Raylan and bite him.” 

“There you go,” Raylan applauds, then sighs as Boyd climbs on top of him. “Shit.” 

Ava stands up and pulls the chair over so she can see at an angle -- but then she knocks over the soda can and spills the ashy residue on the floor. “Oh, hell -- just -- make out until I get back.” She jumps up and runs to the bathroom, grabbing a towel and wetting it in the sink. 

This is one of those moments that would be edited out in a movie. Ava is annoyed at herself, but she gets over it when she walks back in the bedroom. Boyd’s still on top of Raylan, kissing him and they’re both moving against each other, like they’re trying to knock the other off-balance. 

Ava nearly forgets what she’s doing, she just stands there and _stares_. “That’s … better than playin’ cards, boys.” Ava drops the towel on the floor in the vague direction of the spilled Coke and sits back in the chair. 

“Don’t know about that, I’m awful fond of winning.” 

“You’re awful fond of _cheating_ \--” Raylan breaks off and makes a noise Ava has never heard anyone make in her life, a combination of a moan and a shout, as Boyd lowers his head and bites him on the chest. 

Boyd keeps biting him, lower and lower and that’s good because Ava wants him to keep going. Raylan grabs Boyd’s hair at one point, and Ava thinks he’s going to pull Boyd away but he doesn’t, he’s just pulling. His back is arching off the bed and his moans are getting louder, and his other hand is grabbing at the belt loops on Boyd’s jeans to pull him down every time his hips push up.

Ava’s stroking herself between her legs because dear god, she’s only human. 

“Want you to get off, baby, while you’re watchin’. You make sure we can hear you, now.” Boyd says, biting his way down Raylan’s chest to his stomach. 

Ava’s hand slides beneath her cotton panties, rubbing herself with sure, steady fingers.  
Raylan’s still got a hand in Boyd’s hair and the other is grabbing the headboard behind him. Ava can see him glancing over at her and then away, quickly, as if he shouldn’t be watching her. 

“Mmm, hey, baby? Boyd. Make him watch me.” 

Boyd’s eyes flash hot and he reaches up, smacks his hand on the side of Raylan’s face and pushes it to the side, so Raylan can see her. “How’s that?” 

“Thank you much.” Ava is sprawled on the chair and she knows she must look obscene, with her legs falling open and the material of her panties pulling taut around her frantic, quick fingers. She’s panting and damp with sweat, and eventually she’s sliding down the chair and has to get her heels up against the edge of the bed so she doesn’t fall on the floor. 

Boyd bites Raylan on his upper arm, high and inside on the curve of his bicep. Raylan thrashes and swears beneath him but he never pushes Boyd away, never tells him to stop, and never once looks away from Ava. 

She comes when Raylan grabs Boyd’s neck and tells him to do it again. 

* * *  
Ava needs a bit of a break after that. 

She gets up and grabs a short, silk robe, drapes it over her shoulders without bothering to tie it, and grabs her smokes. This time she heads for the window, running her fingers through Boyd’s hair on her way. 

“I used to have clients pay thirty bucks for product to make their hair do this.” She tugs on the strands, which are sticking straight up like all that energy buzzing through him shot right out of the top of his head. “Should’a just had ‘em go to bed with you two.”

“Think we might have to charge a little more than thirty bucks, Ava. My pride won’t let my sexual prowess be valued at a jar of wax pomade.” At her look, Raylan laughs. “I was married, darlin’. Sometimes we pay attention to all that crap in the vanity.” Raylan’s arm is bleeding a little, but he doesn’t seem to mind so Ava doesn’t, either. 

Ava opens the window and lights her smoke, half-heartedly aiming the smoke out of the screen. The cool air feels good, she can’t tell if it’s because she’s too warm or if there’s just too much sin in the room for it to be anything other than hot.

Boyd and Raylan go back to making out and she watches them through two straight cigarettes, her head feeling woozy from the booze and sex and the nicotine. She’s content to just look her fill, wondering if they know that no amount of biting and roughing each other up will hide how much they want each other. 

Maybe that’s what she should have told Raylan, when he asked her why it didn’t bother her. _Be like tryin’ to tell the sun to stop risin’, gettin’ you two to keep your distance._ Besides, if Ava didn’t want Boyd trying to change her into someone else, like Bowman did every day of their marriage until she needed a shotgun to tell him to knock it the hell off -- she couldn’t go around trying to change him, either. 

And the fact it was really hot, that sure as hell didn’t hurt any. 

“All right,” Ava announces, stubbing out her second smoke and dropping the robe to the floor. “What do you boys have to show me, next?” 

Raylan surprises her with an answer -- she thought it was going to take a lot more banter, that seemed to be pattern -- trying to push Boyd on his back. “I’ll suck him off. Bet you’d like that, Ava.” 

She would indeed, but because Raylan suggests it, she’s immediately suspicious of his motives. “Well that does sound nice, Raylan. I’m sure you’re very good at it.” 

Raylan nods, then elbows Boyd in the side. When Boyd doesn’t say anything, Raylan scowls and elbows him, harder. “Boyd. Tell her I’m good at it.” 

Boyd rubs a hand over his side. “Ava, Raylan is very good at sucking cock.” He’s giving her the same look he does when they’re at a party and he wants to leave, or when he’s trying to tell her he has to go outside and take care of some business and she should pay the tab and meet him at the truck. 

“Is there anything Raylan isn’t good at?” Ava teases, taking the ever-present black elastic from her wrist and twisting her hair up on her head. 

Boyd smiles, obviously pleased. “There’s a few things.” 

“What?” Raylan elbows him again. “What few things are those, Boyd? Don’t recall you ever havin’ that many complaints. And don’t say something dumb like, _making puns_ or _Jeopardy_ or _driving_.” 

Boyd gets on top of him again, straddling him easily. “Killin’ old friends?” 

“I could get better at that. Practice makes perfect -- hey, get off me, you know I don’t like sucking cock on my back.” 

Ava can’t stop the unholy grin that comment elicits. “My, my. The things I have learned about you during this threesome, Raylan. So informational.” 

“God, you even _sound_ like him.” Raylan’s look is accusatory. “Stop that. One’s enough.” He shoves at Boyd’s shoulder. “Now get on your back so I can suck you off and thrill your woman. It’s late, and some of us do have legitimate jobs to get to in the morning.” 

Ava wonders if Raylan knows what time it is. She considers taking her panties off and tossing them at the clock to cover up the numbers, but instead she just moves nonchalantly and tries to stand in front of it. 

Boyd moves so he’s straddling Raylan’s legs. “Move down a bit, would you? Ava’s gonna need a place to sit if she’s gonna hold your arms. Ava, baby, my light in the darkness...get over here and hold Raylan’s arms for me.” 

Raylan looks like he’s going to argue, but Boyd’s hand rubs over the front of his jeans and Raylan snaps his jaw shut and doesn’t. Ava gets settled behind him and takes his arms from where they’re crossed underneath his head, and tugs them so they’re in her lap. 

Boyd pauses as he’s taking off Raylan’s belt to admire her, eyes bright like stars. “You’re so beautiful, baby. Seems like it ain’t right, me gazin’ upon you with these sinner’s eyes.” 

“Oh, you’re kidding me.” Raylan makes a dismissive noise. “Does he say stuff like that a lot?” 

“Fairly often.” Ava traces the inside of him, watches him fight not to react. 

“And does it work?” Raylan’s eyes are closed, but they open and he looks up at her -- well, mostly up at her, as he seems to get distracted by her breasts. 

“Depends on what you mean by _work_.” Ava rubs her thumb on the inside of Raylan’s wrist. The bite Boyd left on his upper arm is stark against his skin. The fingers of her free hand are gentle as they run lightly over the fierce, angry mark. 

Raylan inhales sharply and shifts beneath her. “What the hell are you doing, Boyd?” 

“As I recall, I was tellin’ Ava about things you ain’t good at in bed,” Boyd says, undoing the button on Raylan’s jeans and easing the zipper down. “First one, Raylan -- know what that is?” 

“I hate when you do that,” Raylan snaps, growing more agitated by the minute. 

“Take your pants off?” 

“No, ask me questions that you don’t really want me to answer. Obviously I don’t know what it is, you just want to _tell_ me.” Ava can see the muscles in his arms and shoulders tensing as Boyd tugs at his jeans. 

“You ain’t so good at lyin’.” Boyd smacks him on the thigh, an unspoken command to lift his hips up. 

Raylan doesn’t seem inclined to obey. “Seems like I’m doing that just fine right now.” 

“No, not lyin’ as in, on your back. Lyin’ as in, tellin’ un-truths,” Boyd clarifies, roughly kneeing Raylan’s legs apart. “‘Course, you ain’t very good at that out of bed, either.” 

“Well, we all can’t be as good as you. Maybe you ought to give a seminar. Except try and do it without the Nazi flag this time.” Raylan still won’t lift his hips up.

“That was uncalled for, Raylan, it really was.” Boyd grabs the fabric of Raylan’s jeans. “Ava, my dearest love, would you do me the singular favor of pressin’ down on that bite I left on Raylan’s arm? Do it hard, he won’t mind.” 

Raylan’s eyes narrow dangerously. “What the--” 

Ava does it before she can think about it or before Raylan can stop her, presses the broken skin with her thumb. Raylan pulls and twitches beneath her, his eyes closed, gasping for breath. 

“Harder please, darlin’.” 

Ava does it harder, and that gets what Boyd wants -- Raylan’s hips cant up sharply as his body bows on the bed, so Boyd can tug Raylan’s jeans and underwear down. It must have hurt pretty bad, but the noise Raylan makes sure as hell doesn’t sound like pain. 

“You’d feel real bad about hurtin’ him, wouldn’t you, if he didn’t like it so much.” 

“I don’t know,” Ava says, fascinated at how Raylan looks all stretched out on their bed, with his jeans pulled down low around his hips and his arms in Ava’s lap, Boyd’s bite marks in his skin. “I might have liked it, anyway.”

“There is somethin’ that ain’t quite right about you two.” Raylan’s eyes are open again, blurry and dark. 

Ava and Boyd share a grin. That’s certainly one way of putting it. 

“The other thing you ain’t good at --”

“Oh, Jesus _Christ_ , this again?” Raylan tugs his arms, but not necessarily like he’s trying to pull away. 

“Ava, darlin’, you got a free hand you could use?” 

“Sure do.” 

“I’d sure like Raylan to pay attention and stop interruptin’ me. Think you might help me out with that?” 

“Be happy to.” Ava uses her forearm to hold him again, and smacks her other hand over his mouth. “Shush, Raylan.” 

He gives her a furious look, but they both know he could get out of her hold if he wanted to. That’s probably why he’s so angry.

“My, now, that is a sight I will certainly keep burned into my mind. The two of you are enough right now to tempt any righteous man to sin.” Boyd’s expression is entirely too smug. 

“Good thing there ain’t no righteous men here,” Ava sasses him, and Raylan’s head moves like he’s trying to nod. She feels him say something against her palm, the words muffled but they sound like _thank you_. 

Boyd’s laugh is bright, unfettered. “Good thing, indeed. Now, Raylan, I just got one more thing to say and then I’ll do something else with my mouth instead of talk.”

Even with his arms pinned and his mouth covered with Ava’s hand, Raylan still manages to look skeptical. 

“You, Raylan, are very bad about expecting people to treat you decent instead of awful. It’s like you think if they ain’t hurtin’ you, they ain’t payin’ you no attention.” 

Ava tries not to make a suspicious, throat-clearing, _you’re one to talk_ noise. 

“And so when you’re in bed, it’s a lot easier to just let someone hurt you, or for you to pin someone down and, oh, let’s say, suck them off which you are indeed very good at --” Boyd settles himself lower, rubbing his hand over Raylan’s stomach affectionately. “ --than just lay there and let someone make you feel good. So that’s what we’re doin’, here.” He moves his hand lower, his touch deliberate and slow as he rubs Raylan’s cock with his palm. 

Ava’s caught up in the way that looks, how it’s clear Boyd’s done a time or two, that she initially misses him telling her to take her hand away so she can hear Raylan. But she does, and then Boyd takes Raylan in his mouth -- Raylan’s head snaps back and he swears, eyes screwed shut like he can’t bear to watch. 

“Raylan,” Ava murmurs, because _now_ he sounds like he’s pain and that doesn’t make a lick of sense to her, she knows from a slightly different perspective how good Boyd is at what he’s doing. “Open your eyes, darlin’.” 

He does, and there’s pleasure and panic there in equal measure. “I -- stop holding my arms.” For all that it’s an order, it sounds awfully desperate. 

“Nope.” Ava tightens her hold, her fingers wrapped now around both his wrists, pinning his arms on either side of his head instead of her lap. “Goddamn, Raylan, that has got to feel good.” She’s enthralled with how Boyd takes him deep and works him over hard with his hand, how Raylan’s hips are starting to push up, faster and faster like he can’t help himself.

“Yeah,” Raylan answers, everything about him twisted and breathless. She can feel the muscles in his forearms straining and tightening as his hands flex. 

Boyd stops for a moment, and she thinks it’s so he can catch his breath but it’s actually so he can talk, which she really should have expected. “Raylan, I am trying to make you feel good and I am also tryin’ to get my lady all hot and bothered and _impressed_ , so if you would stop treatin’ me like a high school girl who ain’t ever had her throat fucked before, I’d sure appreciate it.” 

“Then you best get your goddamn mouth back where it should be and stop talkin’.” He glances up at Ava. “You better hold my arms a little tighter, sweetheart.” 

Ava raises her eyebrows at the endearment but leans forward and puts more weight on her palms. “How’s that.” 

“It’ll do,” Raylan bites out, and then moans when Boyd puts his mouth back on Raylan’s cock.

Oh, if she thought that was hot before it’s nothing compared to how it looks _now_. Raylan’s hips are snapping up so hard the mattress is moving off of the box springs, and Boyd’s choking but he’s taking it, his hands braced on either side of Raylan’s hips. 

Ava doesn’t think she’s ever seen Raylan afraid of anything, but there’s something in his eyes that looks suspiciously like fear. 

“Raylan, s’all right,” Ava murmurs, leaning down and kissing him despite the awkward angle. Strands of hair have escaped her messy ponytail and fall around his face. 

He kisses her back almost desperately, and she can feel the noises he’s still making against her mouth. 

She straightens back up, still lightly pinning Raylan’s wrists, and finds Boyd’s eyes on them. “You look so good like that, baby. Doesn’t he, Raylan?” 

Raylan lifts his head enough to look down at Boyd. “Yeah that’s ‘cause -- he ain’t talkin’ -- _ow_ , goddamn it, did you just _pinch_ me?” 

Boyd winks and lowers his head again, and Raylan’s falls back on the pillow. Raylan’s breathing gets all fucked up and shallow, and she watches appreciatively as the muscles in his stomach tighten as he gets closer. 

“Come on, Raylan,” she murmurs, because the wildness is in his eyes again and she can tell he’s fighting it. “Let go, darlin’. You really ain’t got any other choice.” 

Raylan comes with a groan and she watches the whole thing, how his eyes close and his face flushes, how Boyd doesn’t move away until it’s over and he sits back on his heels, breathing hard and rubbing the back of his hand over his mouth. 

Boyd moves smoothly up the bed and kisses Raylan. Raylan’s wrists are free, so he raises one arm and slings it almost roughly around Boyd’s neck, pulling him closer and kissing him back. 

The only sound in the room is their breathing, like they’re saying in silence what they can’t ever seem to say in words. 

* * *  
Raylan kicks his jeans off and lays on his side, Ava stretched out on her back next to him. He’s touching her quietly, easily, and it doesn’t feel like it’s just about sex anymore -- though Ava is starting to wonder if it ever actually was.

“Guess we ought to do something about you,” Raylan says gruffly, looking around her at Boyd. 

“That’s awful kind of you,” Boyd murmurs. He’s sitting on the bed, still in his jeans though the top button is undone. Ava doesn’t remember doing that, which means he must have done it himself at some point. While he was sucking Raylan off. 

Okay maybe it’s not all about the sex, but there’s no denying that part is really, really good. Damn. 

“What do you want?” Raylan asks, still addressing Boyd. He makes it sound like a challenge, though there’s much less of an edge to his voice than usual. 

Boyd’s hand slides into her hair, pulling it out of the ponytail. “Now, Raylan, we want to know what _you_ want.”

“Please have a threesome with us, Raylan. It’s about _you_ ,” Raylan mocks, but he’s smiling, fingers tracing her collarbone and the curve of her breast, his eyes warm. 

“We are very generous to our friends, you know.” She smiles and reaches up to smooth Raylan’s hair off his brow. Her fingers touch the streaks of grey at his temples. “Bet you’ve gotten some more of that since you got back here.” 

“Bet I know whose fault that is.” He leans down and kisses her, surprisingly gentle. “You really are somethin’ else, Ava. Ain’t no way Boyd deserves you.” 

“And I suppose you’re gonna tell me you do?”

“Hell, no,” Raylan laughs, straightening up. He looks over at Boyd, back at Ava, and it’s obvious he wants something and isn’t sure how to ask. 

“Just say it. Boyd’ll probably do it. ‘Specially if I ask him.” 

Boyd gives her hair a playful tug. He’s obviously still wound up, and it makes her want things, too -- despite the fact she can tell from the way the sky looks outside the window that it will be soon be dawn. 

It took her a long time to do that, look into darkness and trust the light would come back. 

“I want to watch. The two of you.” Raylan’s gaze never wavers, his voice steady. “Unless Ava’s too tired.” 

“Ava is definitely not too tired.” She _is_ , or at least her body is, but she wants this to keep going because it feels right in ways it maybe shouldn’t. 

“Just checkin’.” Raylan moves over a little, still on his side. He clears his throat. “You can start whenever. You know. I’ll understand if you need a minute, Boyd. You sure ain’t gettin’ any younger.”

“It’s like you’ve never been to bed with me.” Boyd stands up to take off his jeans, but Raylan stops him. 

“No. Ava, you do it. Come on, girl, least you can do is give me a bit of a show after I let you pin me down like that.” 

Ava sits up and smacks him in the shoulder. “You _let_ me?” 

Raylan grins at her, and despite the lines around his eyes and the gray in his hair, he looks younger, mischievous. It’s a nice look on him. 

She takes Boyd’s jeans off and it’s kind of weird at first to feel Raylan watching them but she gets used to it pretty quick, finds she actually likes it. Boyd is all energy and hands and enthusiasm, pouncing on her and when she kisses him he tastes like Raylan and that’s hot, too. 

“Raylan, you’ll get on your back for Ava without the fuss you make when it’s for me, won’t you?”

“Of course. She’s a lot better lookin’ than you are.”

“Never gonna hear a word to the contrary escape my lips, Raylan. Lay on your back.” 

Raylan lays flat and Boyd reaches down and wraps a strong arm around her middle, his mouth close to her ear. “I have engineered somethin’ I think you’ll like, darlin’. Hold on.” 

Boyd picks her up, or as much as he can in their position, and settles her on top of Raylan, with her knees on either side of his and her hands on his shoulders. There’s a moment of hyper-awareness of how she’s straddling one man naked while another man gets behind her, but then Boyd starts fucking her and Raylan takes her hands off his shoulders and lets her push against his own, turned palms-up with his elbows propped up on the bed. 

It gives her leverage and holds her steady, and it feels so good she can’t even think about being embarrassed, about feeling anything other than really goddamned _lucky_. 

“Hi,” Raylan drawls, sleepy-eyed and smirking up at her. His fingers tighten. “Let’s see how you like it.” 

“I like it -- fuck -- as much as you did,” she manages, tossing her head and trying to look through her hair. 

“Boyd, hold the lady’s hair back so I can watch her face while you fuck her, would you?” 

“I might be persuaded, Raylan.” Boyd’s breathing is rough as he slides one hand warm up her back and into her hair, gathering the strands and holding tight. 

He could have just left her hair in the ponytail, but Ava doesn’t bring that up. He’s a bit theatrical.

“You know I thought about this, once,” Raylan continues, conversational, shifting a little beneath her. “About how you two’d look in bed together. Thought it would make me mad, picturin’ that.”

Raylan’s still shifting beneath her with unknown. “No, no, Ava, stay right where you are. Boyd, you could move -- come on, now, be accommodatin’, here, I’m only trying to help.” 

Ava has no idea what he’s doing -- she’s not really concerned, she just wants Boyd to go back to fucking her harder -- and then suddenly she feels Raylan’s thigh pressed against her, between her legs and oh, _oh_. Every time Boyd thrusts into her, it pushes her forward and the friction is amazing, gets her throwing her head back and making noises that maybe sound a little like a scalded kitten.

“But thinkin’ about it, it got me hot. And angry, but we all knew that already. Boyd, you give it to that girl harder, you hear? I know you can, been where she is now.” 

The thought of _that_ is almost too much -- and not just for her, she can feel how Boyd reacts, the way he moves harder, rougher, fingers tight in her hair and on her hip. 

“And maybe the next time, I thought about how maybe I’d be a less mad if I was there, too.” 

Ava’s not sure she believes that, but it doesn’t really matter. She comes pressed up and rubbing against Raylan’s thigh, and Boyd drives hard inside of her and half-falls on top of her, gasping for breath. 

The whole precarious situation holds for longer than she thought it might, before they all collapse in a piles of knees and elbows and _ow_ and _well guess that means I am done for the night_. 

Maybe that’s an omen. 

* * * 

Raylan makes noises about heading home, getting some sleep before work. 

“You looked at the time, Raylan?” Boyd asks, and he’s tired so the words all run together, Raylan’s name a slur of consonants where a vowel or two should be. 

“If you tell me it’s the devil’s hour, I’m gonna hit you.” Raylan yawns. 

“Witching hour,” Boyd corrects. “And no, because that ain’t what time it is. Even demons are in bed at this hour.” 

Ava rummages through her dresser until she finds a pair of sleep shorts. Because she’s a girl, she spends a few more minutes looking for the matching tank-top and being irritated she can’t find it. “Thought the witching hour was midnight?” 

“Yes, you’d think that, wouldn’t you.” Raylan pulls on his boxers and peers at the clock. “Holy -- is that _right_? It can’t be. Fuck, I’d be late for work if I left _now_.” 

“That’s why we should all go to bed,” Boyd says reasonably. Ava gives up on her tank top search and crawls into bed just wearing the sleep shorts. She moves in close to Boyd, who presses up behind her and tugs her close. 

She can also feel his hand, inching closer to her breast. Ava smacks the top of it. “You can’t be serious.” 

She feels him smile against her neck. “The spirit is always willin’ as far as you’re concerned, Miss Ava.”

“That’s real sweet, but you best will it to settle down.” 

Raylan clears his throat. “You got a blanket or somethin’? I can take the couch.” 

Ava startles at that, realizing Raylan’s just standing there and...leaning, like he does, instead of coming to bed. “No, we left you room. Come on. Turn the light out and get over here.” She pats the side of the bed that’s empty. “Good thing you two sleep on different sides, or else this whole thing would be doomed.”

“Yes, hooray, all our many and varied issues have been resolved.” In typical Raylan fashion, he follows up that sarcastic comment by doing exactly what he’d been stubbornly resisting to do, which was get in bed with them. And he’d only been resisting in the first place because he wanted to. 

God, and men thought _women_ were exhausting. 

The bed is definitely not big enough for the three of them. She’s pretty sure Raylan’s feet are hanging off the edge, he always had that problem when he stayed over before. But no one is saying a thing, and when Raylan turns with his back to her, she just curls close and flings a leg over his, and one of her arms over his side.

He takes her hand and moves it up to his chest, pats it once and holds it there. She watches Boyd’s hand move from her waist to Raylan’s hip, and his thumb stroke once, twice, before Raylan twitches and tells him to knock it off.

“He’s ticklish,” Boyd murmurs. 

“Heard that. Am not. Hate you.”

“You were supposed to, yes you are, and no you don’t.” 

Ava makes a mental note to ask about how exactly Boyd figured out Raylan was ticklish. Maybe request a demonstration. But not until _after_ they’ve had a (very, very late) breakfast. She’s going to be starving when she wakes up -- threesomes really work up the appetite. Which reminds her of something. “Hey, Raylan, you still coming to dinner on Sunday?”

“Well now, I reckon that depends.”

“On what?” Ava asks, smiling wickedly. “If I take my shirt off at the table?” 

“I wasn’t thinking specifically that, but can’t say I’d complain any. But what it really depends on -- hey, Boyd?”

“Hmm?” Boyd sounds half-asleep, his breathing deep and even. 

“You gonna make those mashed potatoes again?”

Boyd’s quiet for a moment. “That a request?”

“Maybe it is. After the other shit you made me ask for, I figured this one was _small potatoes_.”

“....Raylan.”

“What?”

“Nothin’. And I suppose I can, but we only have sweet potatoes. You all right with those?”

“Sure I _yam_ , Boyd.” 

Ava can’t see to be sure, but she’s pretty sure Boyd’s smiling.


End file.
